


these, our bodies, possessed by light

by peter_panda



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe-The Old Guard fusion, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Immortality, Introspection, Slow Burn, immortal!brienne, immortal!jaime, myrcella doesn't:(, tommen lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25340965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peter_panda/pseuds/peter_panda
Summary: "Jaime kills the Maid of Tarth on the bridge.Then the wench rises again and stabs him clean through the neck."
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 33
Kudos: 152





	these, our bodies, possessed by light

**Author's Note:**

> I recently watched The Old Guard and thought this would be perfect for Jaime and Brienne.
> 
> I make a lot of changes to events that should change the course of the entire thing but honestly I don't care about the politics. I'm here for Jaime and Brienne so that's that. This story also blends book and show canons together a bit but it's mostly show heavy. 
> 
> Tarth house words were taken from: https://goodqueenaly.tumblr.com/post/143117499254
> 
> Title's from Siken.

Jaime kills the Maid of Tarth on the bridge.

He stands still for a second, trying to catch his breath, looking at her crumpled form on the ground. Her sword lies in her slack palm, her face bloody, her leg broken, her chest utterly still. For a moment, he thinks what a great waste it is. She fought so well, with such talent and tenacity. If he has to be honest to himself, it was only a struck of luck that she is the one lying there dead instead of him. A moment of distraction where she lost her footing and left herself open and he just moved in and slammed his knee into her leg. Even then, she didn't come down easy, just sagged forward slightly, just for a breath or two, but it was enough for him to slash her throat.

He doesn't look at that wound on purpose.

After a while, the weird feeling the sight invokes in him gets too much so he tells himself he doesn't care about a stranger, woman or not, and cleans his sword on the leg of her breeches. Tries to figure out a way to cut off the rope that still stubbornly keeps his wrists tied. So like the woman who tied it into a knot, it's almost like years ago now, she was insufferable and ugly and towards the end incredibly fascinating but it's nothing now, potential or not because it's done. She is dead.

"It would've been nice to have a real duel," he says to the open air, to the rushing water beneath, to no one.

Then the wench rises again and stabs him clean through the neck.

***

Jaime opens his eyes for a second and everything is so blurry and warped. He feels nausea rising, the throbbing of his head, the weird soreness in his neck that is unlike anything he ever felt before in his life.

"Seven hells and seven layers of shit what the fuck."

He groans and it makes his parched throat hurt. Blindly reaches for his sword in a move that he hopes is covert.

"Don't bother." Her voice is still as dour as always, even with the blatant shock.

"You are truly alive then," he manages to mumble. "For a second I thought it was a nightmare."

He finally manages to open his eyes all the way and the day is overcast but still too bright, somehow. He squints, looking at her tight lipped face. Her eyes betray her shock however. She seems badly shaken. Her clothes still covered in blood, hers and his, and mud.

Her throat, however, under it's sticky blood covering, is whole. Mended.

"Is this a normal thing for you?" he croaks. "Is this why you decided to become a knight? Because you are literally too stubborn to die?"

"I was going to ask the same to you." She takes a quick look at his neck without the gauge she so thoughtfully gifted him with.

"No, I'm afraid it was a first for me." He sits up under her cautious gaze. His sword hangs from her belt once again. He sighs.

"Look, I'm assuming this was a first for you too, based on your reaction. It was...I'll admit it was quite something but I say we should consider ourselves even and keep moving. I really want to see King's Landing before another year passes. And I'm sure you want the same."

"Fine," she says. "We will proceed but if you try that again, Kingslayer, I will ensure you don't rise again. Understood?"

"And break your vow to Lady Catelyn?" he says, mocking. "Don't ever say it again."

She just grimaces and starts walking.

Jaime takes a fortifying breath, buries this horror with the others to the best of his ability and stumbles after her-

And walks right into a stranger.

***

"Sapphires!" He yells, because even though the little voice in him says that not only he doesn't care, but also it's impossible for them to do any real damage, based on their little adventure on the bridge, yet another part of him, a treacherous, terrible part of him that just won't shut up insists she will still feel pain because she screamed when he slashed her thigh open and she is screaming now too, that horrible sound that makes his blood curdle and think of- No. He shakes his head. Don't think of her.

They let her go, in the end. Let him stand up and talk and offer them riches and hurl not so well hidden threats to their faces. For his trouble, he gets his hand severed.

It hurts worse than anything he's ever experienced in his life but as he lies in his own blood- second time in a day, he's truly losing his edge-, vomit and other things he doesn't want to think about, half delirious from the pain, it somehow manages to get worse and worse. And then he realizes he can literally feel his bones elongating, extending, _growing_. Then muscle slowly knits itself together, flesh grows and expands, skin stretches to cover the whole thing. To him, it feels like it took years. The wench will tell him later that it was definitely faster than that, and quite gross to the eye. After that, the pain is suddenly gone, just vanished and he slowly drags his new hand under his body, in an angle he hopes their captors can't see. Makes eye contact with the wench and prays to any god there is that it's not too dark for her to see. That she's not too dense to understand.

It is not and she is not, in the end.

It's not the best of his strategies of course. They are both unarmed against a group of armed men. But it still works. He never fought this savagely in his life. They both die multiple times, as expected, but rise again every single time and after a while, Jaime stops marveling at it. It would probably be a lot quicker if they had anything sharp, but in the end they prevail.

As they stand over the bodies of their captors, Jaime steals a glance. She is glamorous like this, he has to admit. Covered in blood and other, less savory stuff from head to toe. He saw her take a man apart with her bare hands mere moments ago. It should scare him but it doesn't. She doesn't feel like the enemy she did a couple hours ago. He thinks the way they fought back to back, shielding each other, helping each other up when possible. It feels...new. And dangerous.

"Do you think we can die at all?" the wench asks him as he checks a deep gash on his shirt. His skin underneath it is untouched as if nothing happened to it. Her voice sounds small, somehow.

That's when it truly hits him.

Of course he's worried about the possibility of immortality and what it entails but more than that, he's worried about what his family will say of it. They would be pleased, he thinks. He can technically storm entire keeps on his own. Conquer cities. Come out on top every single time. Just like his father have dreamed. Tyrion probably will be happy too. Cersei, on the other hand.....

Her, he can't predict.

She obviously would be pleased for the same reasons their father would be. He is her weapon, after all. The sword she wields. But if he can't die, does that mean he will never change at all? Will he age? That can be a problem. On one hand, he will remain perfect and whole forever, just the way she likes. On the other hand, however, as he remains unchanged, time will bend her to its will. They won't be each other's mirror anymore. She probably wouldn't like that much, he realizes with a sense of impending doom. And he's not sure he would like their father's possible plans regarding his new condition.

He holds his new hand with his left, tracing its lines with fingertips. It looks the same but he can feel the differences. It lacks the roughness of skin from the biting cold. It lacks the calluses he spent his entire life developing. The thin burn scar towards his index finger is gone. It feels too new. Strange.

It's a hand that never touched Cersei.

A metallic screech brings him back to reality. The wench drew her sword and is now examining it. Once again, she looks shaken.

He realizes he never answered her.

"I think we must-" He trails off, clears his throat and starts again. "At this point we must face the possibility of this being permanent."

"You grew an entire hand. I saw it happen."

"We died and rose again, many times in fact, and that was what spooked you?"

"It must've hurt very badly," she says.

That's what catches him off guard. No one asked about the pain before. Everyone in his life was satisfied with his survival. The pain was inconsequential. And she's the enemy, he murdered her in cold blood, yet she still cares about-

"You may rejoice in it," he says, defensively. He can't let himself think she genuinely cares.

She blinks rapidly, like she's confused or maybe she's about to cry. Please no, he thinks. He's never known how to handle crying people. She doesn't, to his luck. Just gulps and takes a few unsteady steps, sits next to him. "We can't let people know."

"You can tell them you were blessed by the Maiden," Jaime tries to joke but his heart is not in it and it's very obvious. She acts like he never spoke at all.

"It might get very bad, if it comes out. The things we can do- we might tear the world apart between the two of us."

He sighs. "I thought we were doing a decent job at that before."

Her eyes find his. "You know I'm right." She pauses for a second. "I know you think oaths are nothing but wind but you gave your word to protect the innocent and-"

"Let us keep walking wench," he says, irritated. "I'm not in the mood for a scolding."

He stops to retrieve his sword from the bloody remains of a man and storms off the clearing. After a heartbeat or two, her footsteps follow.

He can feel her eyes on the back of his neck the whole time, but never once turns towards her.

***

They find a small bathhouse in a village close to Harrenhal. The bath itself is small too, but they still fit, against the loud protestations from the wench. She sits, submerged to her chin, sullen and silent. He rubs his face with his right hand, his new hand, the one that bears no signs of the person he is. The one that never touched anyone but the wench.

She tries to persuade him about their secret once more. Calls him Kingslayer again. He keeps rubbing his face. He fears for a second he will rub it off.

"I know it's too much to expect from a man who never cared about anyone but people he's related to by blood but-"

He lets his hand drop to the water and it makes a splashing sound. It's almost deafening in the quiet of the bathhouse. She stops talking, surprised.

He tells her the story of his greatest sin and his biggest triumph then. He has to get the poison out of him somehow. He can't bear her looking at him with that much contempt after they fought back to back.

Once he finishes, his throat feels dry as sand. She is silent. She looks surprised and confused but her eyes have this look that seems _sad_. He can't be sure if that is a balm to his aching soul or an insult. He'll take it either way.

"We should go," he says, when he's sure she won't say anything. "It must be getting late." He gets up and leaves, finds the owner, asks him about some new clothes. They send a little boy to the tailor's with Jaime's estimation of the wench's measurements. He hopes they are not too far off. The clothes come faster than he expected as well, simple and made from cheap fabric but clean. He gets dressed, has a drink with the owner, feeds her a tale about his new wife and the bandits they evaded. The wench doesn't appear the entire time. The sun is almost completely gone by that time and Jaime is getting impatient.

It takes her another hour to come out.

***

They get discovered in Harrenhal, because of course they do. It wouldn't be his luck otherwise. One of Lord Bolton's men recognizes him from this tourney or that and since the wench insists on their condition staying undetected, he lets himself be taken after a brief struggle to mollify his pride. They separate them and put Jaime in a small room while the wench gets sent to the dungeons. Only after two whole days, when Lord Bolton invites them to dinner, Jaime gets to see her again. She is not wearing her new clothes but a garish dress. It's an awkward fit on her and definitely doesn't help her face at all. He realizes suddenly, that her looks doesn't bother him the same way they did before. Now they look familiar. Comforting, almost. He kicks that thought down the stairs he built between his mind and the deep hole he keeps his worst thoughts and memories.

They argue and argue during the dinner. Lord Bolton is a horrid man but he is smart. He wants Lannister gold and Stark support. And in his particular position, he can have both. Jaime uses every trick he was taught but fails to persuade him into letting the wench go.

They let him say goodbye.

"I owe you a debt, my lady," he says. She took a little bit of the immense weight he's been carrying for years off of his shoulders. Shared a part of his burden. No one did that before.

"Fulfill our oath," she says, "deliver the Stark girls to their mother and consider the debt paid."

"I will," he says with a fervor he lacked when he made that oath to Catelyn Stark. "I swear to you on my blood and my sword that I will do anything within my power."

She nods, solemn. "Goodbye, Ser Jaime."

That's what does it. That _Ser Jaime_ , said in such sincerity, as if she actually thinks him someone worthy of knighthood. For a moment he's breathless.

"Or I can stay," he finds himself saying. "We can take them, like we did with the Companions. We might even find some weapons, this time."

"That would be very noticeable."

"Not if we leave no survivors."

"There are innocents in this castle," she says. "Besides, it's not as if they can kill me."

"There are worse fates than death." His voice is full of poison. Full of anger and self loathing and the memory of Rhaella, screaming.

She takes a deep breath. "I am no babe, ser. I know what I'm choosing."

"Don't you think they will notice that you're not dying when they, you know, try to kill you?"

"That won't be for a while yet, I assume," she says. Her voice is so calm that it has to be utterly artificial. "Lord Bolton seemed very insistent on returning me to Robb Stark to be hanged."

"And when they harm you before that?"

"Then I can do as you suggested and say I was blessed by the Maiden and their cocks will surely fall off in the following moon."

It would be a jest coming from anyone else but there is no humor in her tone and Jaime never been the sort who found people being defiled funny. It only convinces him further that she's putting up an act. She's trying too hard.

"And when Stark hangs you and you don't die?"

"That does not concern you. There will be no reason for them to suspect you by then."

"I will know I abandoned you to a horrible fate when I could do a lot of things to prevent it. Lady Catelyn will too."

"Since when do you care what she thinks of you?"

"I don't care what she thinks, I care what _you_ think." It comes out of him like an exhale. He doesn't even comprehend the words until they are out in the air with her wide eyes staring at him.

He said too much and it will cost him too much. He has to do something. Some sort of a plan, or a jape or-

"If you truly care, I think I would think worse of you if you didn't go and try to help those defenseless children," she says. She speaks very slowly, like she's picking the words very carefully. "I can be hurt but can't be truly harmed. They don't have that protection. I chose to come to the mainland knowing I might get hurt or even die. They had no such choice. They won't have any, unless you are there to provide it." She holds his gaze for a second before adding, almost in a whisper, "Please, Ser Jaime."

He can't speak, can't even move his head to nod. Something in him aches too badly. He just turns around and leaves.

When he followed Cersei to the Septon on her wedding day, his legs were stiff and sore. Each step was a struggle. Each moment the feeling of walking towards his execution grew more and more suffocating.

This is worse than that, he realizes in a numb sort of way as his companions watch him get on his horse. The reason is terrifyingly clear to him. She was the only person in his life that saw him for what he was, the worst and the best. The person who still was kind enough to acknowledge his pain and his godsdamned emotions and not only to mock them. The only person who would understand how this new immortality felt; the joy and terror of it. She will be lost to him forever.

_I am a selfish man_ , he reminds himself. They are quite far from Harrenhal and the clouds are puffy and full. "We have to go back," he says. "I forgot something."

And once they arrive, sore from riding after all this time, finds her in a pit with a bear and the man says, hatred in his eyes and missing an ear, "You want her? Go get her."

So he does.

***

"That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen anyone do," she says.

They are sitting in an inn. Their companions are seated at another table, talking loudly and drinking. This is the first time she spoke after their little bout with the bear.

"It was perfectly safe," he says, aiming for flippant. "They would never let me die down there, they love their gold too much. Besides," he lowers his voice, "it's not as if I would die."

"What if the bear tore you in two and ate half of you? What makes you so confident that whatever this is can fix that?"

"You were there too with a sword, I hoped you wouldn't allow that to happen."

"It was a wooden sword!"

They stare at each other for a second.

"Well, my apologies, my lady, next time I will make sure to leave you for your doom."

Suddenly her cheeks are not as pale as before and she- she's blushing, he realizes. He wasn't aware that was a thing she was capable of. Not red like she got when he riled her up. Pink and high on her cheekbones, like maidens from songs get. It's weirdly compelling.

"Thank you," she says at the end. It's so silent he thinks maybe she didn't mean it for his ears at all but it warms him up all the same.

Before he can say anything however, something happens in the hall.

A traveler comes in, muddy and weary. Speaks a few words with the owner of the inn. One of their companions says something to the man and he says something back. Bolton's man's face changes.

He comes to their table, smiling slightly.

"I come bearing good news, your lordship," he says in a mocking tone. "Your father is triumphant once more. We are on the same side now, I've been told. House Stark is no more."

Jaime gulps with great difficulty and looks at Brienne. She is suddenly as pale as paper, her mouth ajar, breathing very hard.

"Bri-" He begins but she is already gone, climbing the stairs so fast it's hard to follow with eyes. Jaime gives the man a stern look. "Never mention this ever again in my presence."

Then he leaves the confused man behind and goes after her.

***

He knocks. No answer.

"Brienne I know you are there," he says. "Open the door and we'll talk."

Silence.

"Come on wench. We must talk."

"I have nothing to say to you."

He lets his head fall and rests his forehead on the door. "This was not my fault. How can it be? I was with you the entire time."

The door opens so suddenly he nearly falls on his face. She looks like a wreck. Her eyes are already red rimmed and tears are staining her cheeks that were so rosy mere moments ago. Her hand is bloody but there is no wound.

"What have you done to your hand?"

"I didn't think you gave the order," she rasps. "But this is- this-" She stops and her shoulders curl inwards as she hides her face with her hands.

He has no words to offer.

"I was suppose to be there," she says, half sob half wail. "I should have shielded her with my body, as I swore to do. I should have-"

"She sent you on a mission because she trusted you," he reminds her. "You didn't abandon her-"

"Because your family took her daughters!" It's too quiet to be yelling but it feels like she's yelling. "You murdered her husband and took her children so she sent me to retrieve them and you- you killed her!"

Jaime remembers Catelyn Tully the way she was the first time they met. He can't imagine that girl dead, body broken and crumpled and bloody. But it is equally hard imagining that girl keeping his brother captive or slapping him as he sat tied to a post. Time leaves nothing from who you once were, no matter who you are or what you do. In the end all that remains is the blood on your hands and the gaping hole in your heart.

He remembers a conversation they had while he was a prisoner. _If gods willed it another way, I could've called you sister,_ he had said. _For this I will give you an advice. You think all is lost but there is still so much to lose. Cut your losses. Take what you can save and run_. That had earned him a slap. Lady Catelyn yelling at his face, all tears and fury, _This is why men are like this. You don't see how it is like to create a child from your own blood and bone and being allowed no blade to protect it. There is no solace for me, no escape. No peace to be found in death, when I know I left what is mine out there in the open._

Thinking of that hurts. The way she said no peace to be found in death. She is dead now.

They were enemies but still, he can't find any triumph in himself. An unarmed woman. An unarmed man- more a boy than man, actually. An unborn babe.

When he pulls himself out of these thoughts, Brienne is already at the other end of the room, her back to him, her head in her hands. He stands there for a moment, unsure what to do, then sighs and closes the door, bars it. Sits on the floor with his back to the door.

He falls asleep after a while. In his dreams, he keeps hearing the conversation he had with Catelyn that first night. He tosses and turns but the dream keeps chasing after him, haunting him, never lets him find peace.

_When we first met, I thought you a good man. A just man._

_When we first met, I was a boy. It's rather easy to be those things, when you are a child. Your son too, will learn. If he lives that long._

He wakes up just before dawn, in twilight. If he lives that long, his own voice says in his head.

He tries very hard not to think about his own children, lost to him long before they were even born.

The sun rises to witness his failure.

***

They finally make it to King's Landing and the first thing he does after he makes sure Brienne is safely taken to her rooms is to go find Cersei. He needs to see her. Soak in her scent, her presence. It might make things right in his soul.

It doesn't.

He recognizes the sounds but his mind does not let him identify them for what they are. It keeps trying to fool him until the very second his eyes see for themselves. His sweet sister must've run out of caution in his absence. Mayhap the death of Robert made her careless. It doesn't really matter, he figures. Not when she is there with Kettleblack, biting on his shoulder to remain silent.

Bile rises in his throat.

_I guess I shouldn't have bothered worrying about her thoughts on my condition_ , he thinks bitterly as he walks away. A part of him wants to go back and face her. Slay him. Make her explain. Make her say she only cares about Jaime.

The rest of him is mostly numb.

That night, for the first time ever, he doesn't unbar his door when Cersei uses their secret knock. He does the same the following night, and the one after that. He spends days training knights and sparring with Brienne in places no one can see them and trying to find things to say to his children. Joffrey holds a weird cocktail of animosity and envy for him, it seems, and it's so volatile Jamie gives up after the first disaster where he offers to train him and Joffrey says he doesn't need training when he has Robert's blood and throws his tourney sword to the ground. Tommen seems a little scared of him at first, but smiles when Jaime kneels to pet Ser Pounce. He will take that as a win.

Cersei grows more and more upset with him and so does Brienne. She reminds him of his oath frequently, eager for results. Cersei is agitated, trying to catch him alone constantly. She also gives suspicious looks to Brienne which makes Jaime's stomach turn. She can't be harmed, not truly,but if Cersei realizes this, then-

Then Brienne would be trapped here forever or "dealt with" in a creative way their father may come up with, if she refuses to join their ranks. He likes neither of those options.

He attempts to talk to Cersei once, about Sansa Stark. She swiftly evades his questions and tries to kiss him. It gets quite ugly, once he takes her by the shoulders and gently but firmly pushes her away.

"It's that ugly cow, isn't it?" she spits in his face. "Did you know that from Harrenhal to King's Landing, they call her the kingslayer's whore? And here I was thinking that was me."

His blood boils at the name but manages to keep his voice calm. "It has nothing to do with her. I didn't even lay a finger on her."

"We both know you don't need fingers," she says bitterly. Twists out of his hold.

He has to save this somehow. If he can't make Brienne seem unimportant to Cersei once again, it will end very badly for her.

_I will have to play her,_ he thinks, hating himself, _like she played me. Mirrors._

"I didn't look at her twice," he says, in a voice he hopes sounds convincing. "Do you know why?"

"Because she's hideous?"

"Because she is not you."

"No one is me," she snaps.

"Exactly. No one is you. And I only ever want you."

Her face softens ever so slightly. It should be enough for now. That's the best he has.

He doesn't resist this time, when Cersei bends down to kiss him.

All he can taste is ash.

***

The very next day, he catches Brienne doing what he explicitly told her not to do. Talking to Cersei. They are sitting around a small table. Margaery is there as well, head bent towards them, listening.

Cersei's face is twisted and Jaime can see the fury in her eyes. Brienne on the other hand, is either oblivious or does not care. He catches their conversation from the middle.

"Surely you must realize," Cersei says, "Sansa Stark is Sansa Lannister now. I can't just hand over a man's wife."

"Then, if you would allow me to talk to your brother-"

"No."

"No?" Brienne is getting angry now, as well. Great. "Your Grace-"

"You say you swore to deliver to her family. Her family is dead now."

"Her brother lives, Your Grace-"

"Her brother?" She pauses for a moment, deliberate. Jaime knows how she plays with people. It's the same way he does. "You mean the bastard?"

Brienne's back is so tense she must be aching. "He is her brother by blood, I'm sure he will do his duty-"

"He's also a man of Castle Black." Cersei's voice is cool and collected. "Will you take a young woman to the Wall? Surely you are not implying she would be better off there than here, under my roof; I hope you're not underrating my hospitality that much."

Brienne visibly forces her jaw to stay slack. "Of course not, Your Grace."

"Then let us be done with this dreadful topic." Cersei takes a sip from her goblet. "It's all I've heard ever since my brother's return."

"But Your Grace-" Brienne starts again and Jaime can't watch anymore. He rushes to their side, trying to look calm and happy, and plucks up Brienne's goblet. "Let us drink to Lady Margaery, may she rule for many years!"

He gets two sets of daggers from Cersei and Brienne but Cersei drinks with Margaery and stops looking at Brienne as if she's planning her funeral and that is enough for now, even though he knows he will pay for it dearly.

***

Jaime stands outside Brienne's door and tries to get rid of the feeling that he's lived this moment before. Hopefully, it will end better than last time.

"Lady Brienne, a word," he says after a brief knock.

He waits a little while before Brienne opens the door. She looks cross with him. Lets him in without a word and walks towards the other end of the room.

"That wasn't a good idea," he starts. "I warned you not to do that."

"If you could just let me finish my word-"

"What do you think would come out of that? You think she would see you were right suddenly and hand over Sansa? Pestering Cersei never gets anyone what they want. It's more likely to get you the opposite."

"Sansa is a child and she's talking about her as if- she has a daughter the same age-"

"Sansa is not her child. She's not fond of them when they are not hers."

"And this is the woman you love." She almost spits the words out and Jaime takes them like he took her blade to the neck.

"I told you," he says, "we don't get to chose who we love."

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. He can see her struggle with herself.

"Oh come on now, wench. You never spared my feelings before, don't start now."

She is silent for another moment, teeth gritted.

"I used to hear stories about the Lannisters at Renly's camp. Starks' too, after that. And I used to think, surely, they must be blown out of proportion by animosity because gods wouldn't suffer such hateful people to live-"

"Gods suffer mothers dying while their babes are still warm from the womb. They suffer innocents getting massacred every single day. They suffered you getting cursed in such a way. You, out of everyone, should know better than to trust yourself into the hands of the gods."

Brienne's hands are fisted into a shirt so tight he's surprised it's not tearing yet.

"And yes, they were right," he continues because tonight he is filled with more self hatred than ever, "we are hateful. My father is hateful, my sister is hateful, even my brother is hateful. And so am I. But I also happen to be your only friend in this gods forsaken city, so yelling at me won't get you more than what pestering Cersei would."

Brienne is still silent and Jamie wants her to say something. He wants it so bad it hurts. He wants to be torn apart by her vicious words. He wants to be shown that this is what he deserves, so it wouldn't be Cersei's fault for treating him like that. It would hurt less, then.

But Brienne doesn't, Brienne is as silent as a tomb. He can see how tight her jaw is. He can almost see the words she swallows down, too. Even now, she is kind.

In the end, that breaks Jaime worse than any insult ever could.

***

His son is dead.

Sansa is gone, Tyrion is in a cell and his son is dead.

Cersei screams and hurls insults to him and demands he kills their brother.

Jaime's head feels like it's filled with salt water. It stings but it can form no thought. He feels utterly empty.

"He was your blood," Cersei says, and he can hear her pain, clear under the fury. It would break his heart, if he wasn't so empty. "Your firstborn."

"And I never got to hold him, have I?" He feels so heavy, so tired. "Let us not speak of this anymore."

Cersei throws one of the candelabras at him without even looking and the edge of it slices his cheek open but the cut is closed before he's even out of the Sept and there is no pain.

He convinces himself there is no pain at all.

***

Jaime is furious at his father for being so unfeeling and at Tyrion for ruining the deal he made for his sake. He's almost vibrating with it.

"And who will be your champion?" His father says.

"I will."

"You'll do no such thing." Tywin pins him with his gaze. "You are the Commander of the Kingsguard and the king you were sworn to protect was killed by this man. I won't allow it."

Cersei doesn't even bother hiding her pleased look.

"I will," says a quiet voice from behind him. Brienne.

Cersei's face is twisted again. She turns to their father. "Surely you won't let the envoy of our enemies to save the man who so helpfully rid them of their rival?"

Tywin looks at Brienne for a long moment, his eyes cold and calculating. Jaime knows, as always, his father has a scheme in his mind. Yet, as always, it's unknown to him.

"I will allow it," he says at last. "She will face Gregor Clegane."

Ever since Joffrey's death, Cersei actually smiles.

"Gods will let their will be known," Tywin says. "We are done. Jaime, a word."

***

"You can have her, if you want," is the first thing Tywin says as soon as they are in his study.

"What?"

"The Tarth girl. She wouldn't have been my first choice, but she is from a good family, young still, and strong. She would bear you many healthy heirs."

"Have you lost your mind?" Jaime finds himself angry beyond reason. "You are killing my brother, what makes you think I will do anything to please you, leave alone get married?"

"Your brother is no babe and he sealed his own fate," Tywin says as if they are discussing tapestry making and not the death of his son. "You can make your own choice. I can command Clegane to be easy on her, once he wins."

"Hear me loud and clear," Jaime says through gritted teeth, "I don't want a wife, I don't want children and I don't want Casterly Rock. Even if I did, after what you've done I would sooner become a septon than the Lord of Casterly Rock."

"You are being childish as always. I have done nothing. I gave you my word, fully intending to honor it. It is not my fault you cannot control your brother. My hands are tied, after he yelled to the Queen Mother's face that he did kill her son and would gladly kill her too, given a chance."

"Your hands are never tied, unless you want them tied," Jaime says. "You forget that I know you."

"Not better than I know you."

"Then you should've known this would never work."

"I know that you would mind if she dies terribly." His voice is still maddeningly calm, but now there is an edge to it. "Clegane is not very precise in the way he fights. I think this would become rather violent, unless I interfere."

Tywin Lannister never makes empty threats. _You can ask the Reynes and Tarbecks_ , his men would say, _but not that many of them left wandering around these days_.

And Brienne is deathless. Yet there are worse fates than death, he knows, especially in this case. There are always worse things.

"Why should I care," he bluffs. "That woman is nothing to me."

Tywin just looks at him, unblinking, unrelenting.

Jaime begged to him once, on his knees. All that managed to wring out of Tywin was a piece of advice, devoid of any feeling: _don't kneel so easy._

He won't. He holds his father's gaze.

"I hope," Tywin says, "Gods smile down to your lady knight. She will need it." Then he gestures with his hand that Jaime can leave.

Jaime is not trusting gods with anything.

***

"Why won't you just kill me and be done with it you son of a whore!"

"What kind of a way is that to speak of your own mother?"

Tyrion looks genuinely surprised to see him and that hurts a bit. He once knew, as well as he knew his own name, that Jaime would always come to his rescue. Not anymore, apparently.

"Get up," he says. "We are leaving."

***

Before dawn, they are out of the city. Leaving his son chafes at him a bit but he's never really been his father and Cersei would never give her last son up. They would follow them to the end of the world. He hopes her ruthlessness will be enough to keep Tommen safe.

Brienne is taking the lead, still seems less convinced than he would rather have her. Tyrion is riding next to him, silent, watchful.

"Where are we going again?"

Jaime shrugs. "Wherever Sansa is."

"Are you sure that is a good idea? She's not exactly fond of me."

"Brienne wouldn't let you come to harm, you are an innocent."

Tyrion raises his eyebrows. "Am I?"

"Well, in this case, at least."

Tyrion keeps looking at him.

"What?"

"What is going on with-" He gestures between Jaime and Brienne.

"Nothing," he says very fast. Too fast.

Tyrion grins. "Oh, this might be fun after all."

***

They learn where Sansa is. Then it proves false. They find another lead. They miss her by mere days. They find Arya on their way to Sansa yet she evades them. Finally, they find Sansa. Unfortunately for them, Lannister soldiers who are looking for Sansa also find her and there is a fight and Jaime dies and wakes up to his brother screaming and Brienne trying to talk him down.

"What in seven hells-" Tyrion says in between sobs, looking from Jaime to Brienne with wide eyes.

"I'll explain," Jaime croaks, then spits out a bloody tooth. Its replacement is already in its place. "In a second."

"You better do," Tyrion says, covered in Jaime's blood. "You better fucking do."

***

They are in the Riverlands. When he hears the news that the Dornish is trying to put Myrcella on the throne, he feels this terrible weight in the pit of his stomach. That sweet girl, caught in the middle of a war that she has nothing to do with.

_They are just children_ , Brienne's voice says, from a memory.

He tells her on the afternoon and she says "of course you must go, Ser Jaime." They find him a boat that goes down the river and once on the shore, he finds himself a ship that goes to Dorne.

He manages to get to her, against all odds. And she says she knew he was her father.

"I know I shouldn't say this," she says, choking on tears, "but I'm glad. At least I have a father who loves me."

"More than the entire world," he says, also choking on unshed tears. She hugs him and he holds her tight, pressing her to his chest.

He only ever gets to hold his daughter once.

The fight is brutal and Jaime did bring a few mercenaries but in the end there are just too many soldiers and one of them nearly cuts Jaime in two and by the time his torso is done undoing the damage and knitting himself together, Myrcella has an arrow in her neck.

It takes her seconds to die, suffering and breathless as her life's blood leaves her. Jaime begs and bargains with any god there may be, asking them to take his healing ability and bestow it on his daughter, who is more deserving of it than he could ever be.

He should've known better.

Jaime's not proud of the things he's done in Dorne, but he can't bring himself to feel sad either. She was the only good that ever came out of him and Cersei, and now she is lost forever. He burns the body on his own, saying whatever he can remember from the prayers he was taught as a little boy. Hopes that she will find the peace she deserves in the arms of the Mother.

He burns his hands while gathering the ashes and desperately wishes it would leave a scar, a mark, anything from Myrcella. Of course, his hands are all healed before he's done with the task.

He pours the ashes to the sea.

It takes him six months to find their little group again. He doesn't speak to either of them for a few days, on the road, while they are eating. One night, at another inn, Brienne sits with him by the fire, watches him watch the flames.

"She knew," he says because he has to tell someone. It's burning him inside out. _She knew._ _Called him father._ And he let her down anyway.

"Is that good?"

He doesn't really know the answer to that. Instead, he says "I got to hold her once."

Brienne's breathing is calm, rhythmic. It soothes him a bit.

"Maybe it's a good thing I was never allowed to be a father," he finds himself saying without planning to. "I'm terrible at it."

"You are being too hard on yourself, Ser."

"I really am not. One of my sons thought me a coward, the other is afraid of me. I would like to think I've done better by my daughter, that is until I completely let her down-"

"You did not." Her voice is quiet but full of passion. "You were there, fighting for her until the last moment. That is all a daughter can ask of her father. All that I would ask of mine."

His eyes sting with tears and his throat feels tight and he never wanted to hold her more than he wants to at that moment.

"Tell me about Tarth," he says instead.

And she does.

***

It takes years but they find Sansa. They sit around an inn table, the girl plastered to Brienne's side, looking at the Lannisters with distrust. Next to them, two homely women are talking about the High Sparrow and his rebellion.

Jaime looks at Brienne and finds her already looking at him. "Go," she says, simple. "You'll find us."

10 months later, Jaime finds them in another inn, this time in the North. Tommen is asleep in his arms, the cut on his face still healing. Jaime still sees the wildfire when he closes his eyes, the Sept of Baelor consumed by green. The screams. Cersei's face, showing no remorse.

He begged her once he returned, as the guards tried and failed to drag him to the dungeons. "Let me take Tommen to the Rock," he said. "He'll be safe there. I will protect him with my life."

"My son is not going anywhere," Cersei said. "He is the king. This is not the first time Faith Militant threatened a king. They lost then. They will lose again."

"Maegor had Balerion," Jaime said, desperate.

"And my son has me, and I will burn this city down before I let them take his throne."

And then she did. And Tommen climbed over that ledge, let himself fall. Jaime, who was seeing another boy in his stead with black hair instead of blond, managed to catch him at the last second.

It tore his arm out of its socket. It's all healed now, of course. No mark left but the memory of the pain. Even that is insignificant compared to the things he remembers.

She sent assassins after them, of course. Two of them were successful. One of them wounded Tommen while Jaime was dead still and for that he tore the man's heart out.

The word is, Cersei Lannister crowned herself the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

It took him too long to realize that she said _let them take his throne_ and not _him_. It always took him too long when she was involved.

Not anymore.

This time, it sewers whatever tattered remains was left of his bond to her completely and it hurts but he'll survive it.

These days, he always survives.

***

Jaime and Brienne take Winterfell from the Boltons on their own.

It takes Jaime by surprise, how much he missed this. Fighting back to back with her. The easy rhythm they fall into. They die and get up again and repeat it as long as it takes for everyone in the keep to die or give up. After the first few times of witnessing them rising from the dead, some of the soldiers are too afraid to even look at them, leave alone fight against them.

Sansa seems fine with Tommen, which is a relief. He doesn't know what they would do if she wasn't. On the other hand, she never seems to trust Jaime, no matter what he does or says. Her looks might be pure Tully but in her blood, the girl is pure Stark.

After a while, Tommen comes to him and says he wants to learn how to fight. Jaime collects all the patience he has in his being and pours it into his training, finding that day by day, he finds more things to say to Tommen, things they can laugh at together, they can mourn together. He never tells him he is his father and Tommen never mentions it, but for the first time he actually gets to learn what being a father means and he decides he likes it. He's not the best at it, for sure, but it's nice and he loves spending time doing that. He likes being Tommen's, in many small ways. Likes seeing the things he took from Jaime and the way he moves like Jaime too, now.

He looks over them one night as they sleep, his son and the Stark girl, curled towards each other like puppies of a litter, bearing the faces of those who suffered beyond their years. He fixes both their blankets.

Ned Stark would probably hate this. But Jaime wants to believe Catelyn would smile.

Brienne certainly does, once she catches him in the act.

***

After the Battle for Dawn, they leave Sansa under her siblings' care and leave, wanting to be away from the suspicious looks and silences that follows them around. Tommen says he wants to stay and Tyrion stays behind with him. Jaime worries and Brienne soothes him to the best of her ability.

They wander around for a while. It's easy to lose the passage of time when they are all alone, away from civilization, away from humans and their laws and their opinions. They act as knight errands, sometimes, helping whomever they can in whatever way they can. They never stay in one place for long, fearing someone will notice how their wounds are always gone after a while. Some time later, Brienne writes to her father and Sansa, and Jaime writes to Tommen and Tyrion. The answers come bearing news of Tommen's plans on getting married and how he wants Jaime to be there. So they circle back to Winterfell. His son looks a lot older, truly a man now. His betrothed is not beautiful to most, probably, but the way they look at each other warms Jaime's heart. They are married under the heart tree by the Queen in the North herself and Sansa smiles at them both, looking genuinely happy for them. Jaime feels very glad that his son is surrounded by people who love him.

***

They lose Tyrion first, to a fever.

Jaime has been ready for death since he was 17. He always thought he was going to die fighting for one member of his family or another, sooner or later. He lost two children, but he never even considered the possibility of outliving his little brother. He must be numb by now, but the pain is searing. There is a funeral. Tommen says beautiful words about his uncle, talks of his wit, his humor. Jaime just stands there, useless and hurting. Once comes the night, Brienne crawls into bed with him and holds him as his body shakes uncontrollably, lets him wet her shirt with tears.

They leave again, soon after. They visit occasionally, like when his granddaughters are born or when Sansa gets married. They never stay long. It gets more and more obvious how Jaime and Brienne are not changing at all, compared to how much older the children they raised look. Those who remember or know the names can get suspicious. It's also hard to see them change thus, so far away from their childhood laughter and dreams.

At their last visit, Jaime looks at his son and realizes there is grey in his hair now. Tommen laughs when he hears that, reminds him that it's his fiftieth year. Jaime takes that very hard because suddenly, it hits him that he will outlive Tommen too, like he has all his children and it's such a heavy burden to bear he cannot breathe thinking about it. Tyrion is gone and they will all be gone too; Tommen and his wife and their children and Sansa and her husband and their children and the children's children. Jaime will outlive them all. He realizes suddenly that for all these years, he never thought about immortality unrelated to fighting. With the war done, it doesn't seem that good or helpful.

He whispers this to Brienne next to their camp fire and she whispers her own fears back and in the end he holds her hand or maybe she holds his. It doesn't really matter.

At least they will always have each other. This gives him some comfort. He thinks back all these years ago, a lifetime, that day on the bridge. Her dead, bloody body.

Maybe gods meant her as a curse as well, but she was so kind and good and stubborn, she fought herself into a blessing.

If there was nothing else, for that he would've sung her praises forever.

***

It's embarrassing maybe, or he's being dense on purpose like his brother used to accuse him of being. But it takes them nearly 200 years to kiss for the first time.

They are in a forest, enveloped by thick fog and Brienne is burning their bloody, thorn clothes. They saved a shopkeeper from a gang which was taking his money and it got ugly but it always does with them. Being immortal makes you careless and messy but together they are deadlier than the Warrior himself. Brienne looked like an avenging angel, her eyes blazing. Now she is like the calm after a thunderstorm, whistling a melody. A true Stormlands girl, Jaime thinks, smiling.

Once she's done, she sits next to him and he pours them tea from the little pot and Brienne is just so, utterly lovely sitting there next to him, warmth seeping through his clothes. He can't help himself anymore. He kisses her.

And she lets him.

He pulls back for a second, looks at her wide eyes and parted lips. Her cheeks are rosy again. "I'm sorry, I should've asked-"

She grabs his collar and pulls him back to her and Jaime helplessly laughs against her mouth, feeling more alive than he ever felt in a long, long time.

***

As the times change, people find better ways of hurting and killing each other, but also better ways of helping and caring for one another. So they keep traveling, keep helping whenever they can. They save hostages from terrorists. They work in disaster relief. They volunteer for mine cleaning. They deliver medicine to remote areas.

After some centuries, Jaime says they deserve some leisure time and Brienne grudgingly agrees.

Tarth is very different from what Brienne remembers of it but her home is still there. She's not sure if that is good or bad. She used to think it as her fixed point, in her youth. It feels eerie seeing it so empty. It's a museum now, they learn; like Winterfell and the Red Keep and Casterly Rock. Their whole lives are stored in museums. Some of the books that were used in her education are on display, alongside the oil painting that shows her mother with Galladon and her, as a baby. _It was badly damaged after the Ironborn set fire to Evenfall Hall, in the last year of the Battle of Five Kings,_ the plaque reads. The flames ate away most of the ornate framing, her mother's skirts and Galladon's shoes. But their faces are still visible, mother's beautiful hair, her brother's eyes.

"Are you okay?" Jaime whispers to her. There are a bunch of tourists standing right beside them.

"Can we go?" she whispers back and he nods, taking her hand.

They walk around the island for the rest of the day. Marble mines are long closed. The forest that was the shelter of her youth is a lot smaller now. There are more houses than she could ever imagine back then. Even some of the cliffs have been filed down to accommodate roads. It feels more strange than familiar. The only thing that remained the same is the sea.

She doesn't know what she expected, really.

They sit by the water until it's dark and Jaime keeps bringing them more and more ice cream and towards the end of their 10th cup, she says he's so lucky he has an invulnerable stomach. He laughs. He is golden under the sun, not even a bit changed from the day they first saw each other, centuries ago. He is her fixed point now, she realizes, the one she will always find her way back to. The face she loathed so much once, the one that taunted her with the sheer perfection of it, brings so much comfort to her. They are untouched by time, unchanged, but they are different in so many ways still. She feels glad for that.

Once comes the night, they lay down on the sand and watch the stars, their light also unchanged, though a bit more faint from the bright lights of the now lively island. She feels Jaime reaching for her and she extends her hand as well.

_In darkness, we rise_ , she remembers her father saying. And they will, she and Jaime, the moon and the sun. Always.

And may the world be brighter for it.


End file.
